The Youth’s Return.

  ’Twas evening, and sweet melting strains
    Of music floated by,
  While the soft splendor glowed around,
    Of an Italian sky.

  Within a green and fragrant bower,
    Sat a young, dark eyed girl;
  And midst her glossy raven hair,
    Shone many a costly pearl.

  Fair was that high born maiden’s brow,
    And stately was her air;
  And the proud beauty of her face
    Was all undimmed by care.

  And in her dark and shadowy eye
    There dwelt a tender light,
  Like some soft trembling star that shines
    Upon the brow of night.

  And the sweet music of her voice
    Was thrilling, soft and low,
  As tones of an Aeolian harp,
    When southern breezes blow.

  And costly gems that lady wore,
    And jewels rich and rare,
  But her beauty far outshone
    The brightest jewel there.

  Bright, glowing pictures hung around,
    So exquisitely fair—­
  Touched with such wondrous skill they seemed
    To breathe in beauty there.

  Delicious odor fill’d the room,
    Wafted from orange bow’rs: 
  The fragrance mingling with perfume,
    Of rare exotic flow’rs.

  In thoughtful mood that lady sat,
    While her dark, lustrous eye,
  Looked out in pensive tenderness,
    Upon the glowing sky.

  She thought upon a noble youth,
    A brave and gallant knight,
  Whose heart was true to woman’s love,
    And strong amid the fight.

  And noble deeds that youth had done,
    And won a glorious name;
  Which future ages would enroll
    Upon the book of fame.

  E’en now, he hastes that maid to greet—­
    Safe from the war returned;
  Impatient at her feet to lay
    The laurels he had earned.

  Ah, lady, thou wilt never more
    Thy gallant lover see;
  His eye of melting tenderness
    Will never rest on thee.

  Death saw that gentle maiden there,
    By dreams of love beguiled;
  He gazed upon her winning charms,
    As hideously he smiled.

  Full many a bright and lovely form,
    Beneath his touch had died;
  But she, the loveliest of them all,
    He thought to make his bride.

  With noiseless step and watchful eye
    He stole into her bower;
  She felt his chill and icy breath,
    And withered in an hour.

  The soft light faded from her eye,
    And pallid grew her face,
  As folded in Death’s icy arms,
    She felt his cold embrace.

  Her breath came heavily and slow,
    Vainly she tried to speak;
  The life blood froze around her heart,
    And curdled in her cheek.

  And when her maidens sought her there
    At the accustomed hour,
  They found her cold and motionless,
    Within that leafy bower.